Cell Block Stories?
by twistedwriter101
Summary: We know they've commited crimes. One didn't. What drove them exactly to that point? Their monologues have so much more....
1. Chew Your Gum

**Disclaimer : I don't own the "Cell Block Tango", Chicago, Liz, Annie, June, Katalin / Hunyak, Velma, Mona, Roxie... oh, y'all should know the rest!**

**A/N: I know there are several fics out there like this, but this will go in-depth. Not just why and how they commited the murder. **

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_**Pop**__, six, squish, uh-uh, Cicero, Lipschitz_

_He had it coming, he had it coming,_

_He only had himself to blame_

_If you'da been there_

_If you'da seen it,_

_I betcha you would have done the same!_

_You know how people have these little habits that get you down?_

Liz didn't know where to start. She admitted to murdering Bernie. She confessed that it was her fault. She went to the mental institution. But I guess you should know her life and what led her to do this act first. Don't judge her yet.

**Liz's POV**

I had been born into a middle-class family in Chicago. My mother died when she gave birth to my youngest brother Mikael. Mikael had died, too. I might've only been eleven, but these memories still haunt me sometimes... I can see his eyes in my sleep. It scares me senseless. I can't describe them. However, back to things.

Once, my mother had died, Daddy left us. I later found out that he always spent his money and covered the loss up with a lame excuse. He was golddigging off of Mama. Then I thought Chicago was hell-bent. Oh no, that was just the start.

As I was the eldest, I felt most responsible to find shelter and a caring adult. This is when my one brother, Erik, started his habit. He was nervous as us five - Erik, Joanne, Eddie, me, and Sparky - were waiting on our doorstep. I had telephoned Grammy and she agreed to come here and get us. Give us good food. Talk to us. Tell us stories.

Take care of us.

During this short expanse of time, Erik had the habit of drumming his fingers, then tapping them. Later I figured out he went on to play a B-flat clarinet in the band that played music for the Kelly sisters.

I like Grammy's neighborhhood. It had funny little people in it. There, I briefly met Mama Morton, but she wasn't Mama then. Just a girl to me then. I had bumped into her, trying to grab Erik. She looked, then saw what I was doing. Then she gave me a tiny smile and walked off, after helping me grab Erik.

It was actually pretty rough later on. You see, Grammy never married after her husband never came back from war. And she was young for her status, but wasn't the healthiest. And now she is unfortunately deceased. So we moved into downtown Chicago, where all those sleazy jazz joints are. I was now sixteen, but I pretended to be an adult. I took them all into my apartment. I also had the sweetest neighbor. She had had been here a day or two before me, but I never figured this out from her. I didn't speak her language. I discovered this when she ran onto the balcony. I saw her with Mr. Whatshisname.

When I was twenty, I applied for a waitress in a fancy restaurant. I had gotten the job. After a year, I had gotten booted along with all the other seniors. Apparently the customers wanted little young sluts. Bleh.

Then Erik moved into his girlfriend's apartment. They later had gotten married... Now what's of them?

Joanne had the same deal... perfect girl.

Eddie turned out to have a chef spot. He became head of the restaurant I used to work at.

Then I met Bernie. It was in the sleazy jazz joint. I had spent most of my savings now getting in here. You see, this was before Velma arrived. I gotta nice voice, you know? So I performed a song or two every time I went, and I got money. And one night I went home with Bernie.

I don't know what fueled us. It wasn't love, or lust even. But I soon found myself dating him. Then he asked me to marry him. It wasn't anything big, but I was tipsy and I made the biggest mistake of my life accepting. A couple weeks after we'd gotten married, he started chewi- popping his gum. He had the habit like Erik.

_Like Bernie. Bernie liked to chew gum. No not chew, pop._

I was so lucky that I could my job back. Apparently the little girls didn't like their job. Mr. Grintle (funny name if ya ask me) was hiring people back up. He was so shocked when I walked in, I stifled the urge to laugh. I was the only older waitress that returned, besides Gertrude. But she's the receptionist, and is probabaly booted now...

_So I come home this one day, and I'm really irritated and looking for a little bit of symphany. And there's Bernie, laying on the couch, drinking a beer, and chewing, not not chewing, popping._

I had had a really bad day at work. First, Mr. Grintle claimed I was late, when I was several minutes early. Then I spilled coffee onto the lap of a very important person. Then a little girl came in. She gave Mr. Grintle that innocent, demoness smile. And then they walked off. So, I left a note. It had my scribbled minute writing on it. **_I QUIT! _**Yeah, again. Then I decided to lie to Bernie, say I was forcibly fired. Maybe he'd get pitiful, and I could get away with an easy night... how wrong I was.

As I walked home, I was completely delirious until the rain started pouring. Then I calmed down. At the final crossing, a stupid driver didn't stop. He hit me. Luckily my purse had thick enough to protect my ribs, as I escaped unharmed. A witness also called the police, and the man had gotten arrested... I think.

So, I finally arrived home. Bernie got home a few minutes after me usually, and he expected dinner fully ready. Stupid pig. And there he was, laying on the lumpy couch. He head would tilt back every minute of so for his beer. Then that bubble would _pop_.

"Lizzie, you're late!"

Pop.

"Bernie, I got fired... ya need-"

Pop.

"No, _you_ need to Lizzie. You take my work for granted! Ya ain't nottin' but a slutty whore whose is probabaly screwing someone else!"

Pop.

This had me shaking in anger.

"Thatsa lie, pig! One, I don't like Lizzie! Two, I work. Ya don't. Three, if I was doing someone, I betcha he'd be better than you!"

Pop.

"And Bernie...

_And I said to him, I said "You pop that gum one more time..." And he did._

"... you pop that gum again, I'll..."

He turned, couch cracking under his weight. He chewed on his wad of coloress gum. Then he blew he bubble...

I was so angry. He had the audacity to that again! The nerve! I turned around, pretending to go into the kitchen.

Pop.

He turned back around and was sucked into his baseball game was more. He popped it again. I stopped right across from the mantle. I looked at my grandfather's shotgun. I had found it it a package on Grammy's doorstep when I made one last trip there. The note said that this was the only thing they found that was intact of him. So I mounted it over the fireplace.

And I grabbed the shotgun, ripping it away from the wall. I had stored a pack of cartridges behind it, just in case. I popped a couple into the barrel and cocked it...

_So I took the shotgun and fired two warning shots..._

Bernie turned his head, bubble ready to burst.

Pop.

"Liz?"

"Ya had your warning Bernie. And that's the last damn bubble!"

I pulled the trigger. Twice. He had actually gotten another bubble ready... and the first bullet went through is bubble, through his mouth, lodging itself into his throat. The second one burst his skull. And Bernie fell off the couch, blood oozing out of the wound. Dead.

_Into his head._

I think old Mrs. Lariwae heard it. Haha. Ya hear my sarcasm? As the sirens were heard, and the people gathered, I pushed my way through the small crowd.

And you know what happened? They got me. My neighbor, the sweet woman, bless her, tried to explain to the cops before they went in. I don't understand Russian, or maybe it was Hungarian. Yes, we'll say Hungarian. Anyway, I saw her eyes fill with tears and terror as I was being dragged into the car. After the detectives and all them people saw my damage, they decided I had a lost state of mind. They stuck me into the Chicago Asylum. Well, that's what I called it. Mama Morton came into the place every once and a while, so I heard. It was true. Mama strut down the halls, and then my room. Then she stopped. And backtracked to my cell. Mama didn't seem to think I lost it, and she was escorted into my cell. She had shooed the guards away...

...and started talking.

To me.

I was esctastic. Someone to talk to who was sane. I confessed everything to her. And I stand proudly in her song. Her motto. I told her it. I called her a mother hen, taking care of everyone in her coop. Then I had laughed and asked the now infamous motto.

"So, basically, if you're good to you, Mama, you are good to the prisoners?"

"Yes," was her reply. I later found out Mama pulled some strings and convinced them I was sane, and she took me to Cook County Jail.

I was the first murderess. Sure, I wasn't the first female, but murderess, yes. They had had a special block set up for muderer / murderess crimes. And I had gotten the first girl bench. There is when I started scratching the choruses are the "Cell Block Tango". And my monologue. I wrote it down so anyone in the cell could see why.

_He had it coming, he had it coming,_

_He had it coming all along._

_If you'da been there,_

_If you'da heard it,_

_I betcah you would have done the same!_

**Third POV**

The other captives would give Liz those awkward stares and she sung those lines out loud, and masteres the words with perfect expression. You see, then, Elizabeth Raven Darswan, became the very own mother of Cell Block E. The Murderess' Row.

She's always first to go in the "Tango", and last in to end her dance. She's most flexible. She's the one they have awe for. The one Mama appreciated...

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**There's the first installment in "Cell Block Stories"! I plan to have Chapter 2, "Six Wives+One Ezekiel Angry Annie" up in a week... if I get a review or two. NOT FLAMES! Actual reviews. Now, press that button! Even you 'anonymous' users!**


	2. Watch His Calls

**Disclaimer: I don't own, and I probably never will.**

**It has been brought to my attention that I possibly have irritating (unintentional) errors in my writing, and unnecessary comments and emphasis in my stories. Thanks to Falcon Whitaker, who pointed those things out. Feel free to do this, too! Just make sure sure they aren't flames... those make me depressed... And I really am not that dependent on reviews. I continue my stories for a few chapters, and then leave them for another story... I was totally shocked that this got over ten reviews. Thanks everyone!**

_Pop, __**six**__, squish, uh-uh, Cicero, Lipschitz_

_I met Ezekiel Young in Salt Lake City about two years ago..._

My life wasn't that horrible. I knew it was better than most of the people in Chicago at the time. I had enough money to keep my family going, and I had a house that sheltered my family of four with space to spare. My younger brother, Jack, was quite obedient for a five year old. He respected my things, and always listened.

My mother had said I had everything any girl could want. Two loving parents, a nice brother, a house, and money...

My papa said I was a brilliant young lady. I was bright, strong, and beautiful...

I suppose I am glad they did not live to see me imprisioned.

But, anyways, on with Zeke. Whenever I finished my education, I discovered that my mother was ill. She had caughten double pneumonia. I knew she wouldn't live, not with her age, but that didn't stop me from hoping. I was the one who sat by her bedside, and saw her eyes close. I vividly remember crying for hours on end, and my father dragging me from her room. The funeral for her was brief, and I recalled how successful she said I'd be.

I left for Utah two days later.

Jack had been entrusted with caring for papa, and I knew he wouldn't slack off. My bags contained possessions that I truly needed and a few items for memories. When I arrived, I immediately started looking for a home. Some were pricey, and some were quite cheap. I settled for an apartment in a peaceful section of the city.

One day, I went out to treat myself to a fancy dinner. A handsome man asked me to accompany him, for he was by himself, too. How could I have rejected him? His eyes twinkled, and his teeth caught the light, making his smile glow. As we were waiting for our appetizer to come, we introduced ourselves. His name was Ezekiel Young, but he preferred Zeke. I told him my name was Annie Smith.

_He told me he was single, and we hit it off right away._

After we got together a few times, a few dates here and there, it clicked. You know that feeling? This desire you get to just marry a person right where you stand? I suppose we got a watered down version of that emotion. It was like replacing full-bodied red wine with light-bodied white wine.

_So we started living together. He'd go to work, come home, I'd fix him a drink, and we'd eat dinner..._

I liked my life. Zeke worked a good job. It paid well, and he got free time. Our life together was peaceful, and he'd wanted to close the gap. I didn't give him an answer, and it had seemed foolish at the time. Later, I realised it was probably the smartest choice of my life.

_And then I found out... single, he told me. Single, my ass! Not only was he married, oh no, he had six wives! One of those mormons, ya know?_

Zeke had started calling my baby, and honey. I assumed it was just a stage in his life... I had never really thought anything bad of him. Now, sitting on a cool metal bench in a prison, I think I should've known something was off. He had once made a late night call, and it wasn't bussiness-like at all... In fact, it sounded like he was cheating on me with someone. Later that night, when I knew Ezekiel was asleep, I crept out and looked for any evidence.

I hit the jackpot.

On a slip of paper was a phone number, and scrawled beneath it, in Zeke's handwriting, read _Marylynn's new phone number_. I was shocked. After messily going through the kitchen area, I found five other slips of paper, and looked for anything else that would imply these women were more than associates. Six marriage certificates were hidden in a compartment in a small drawer.

My soon-to-be fiancee had six wives. He had fooled seven women into thinking he was single, and not one of them found out his game. I slapped myself mentally. Why didn't I think of this earlier? I knew he was too perfect. I waited for tomorrow to come... Then was when I would execute my plan.

_So that night when he came home from work, I fixed him his drink, as usual. You know, some guys just can't hold their arsenic!_

I felt betrayed. I bought some rat poisoning at a local pest center, and gave him his usual glass of arsenic. Half of the rat poison was missing from its container. Ezekiel walked through the door, came over, and pecked me on the lips. I resisted the urge to slap him, and took his briefcase into the bedroom. I returned, and saw his head fall back as he took his last swing of arsenic. I counted in my head, and on one, his head lulled back and rolled back and forth on the couch edge. OK, I might have used too much, but it had worked.

The cheater was dead.

I returned to Chicago when the first oppurtunity arose. However, my luck ran out. I was now a known killer, and the police in Chicago wanted my head. To top it all off, I had discovered that Jack and papa were dead, killed in a car crash two years earlier. To put it simply, I didn't make a fuss when the police caught me. They delivered me to the matron, and I was placed in a cell beside another murderess.

_He had it coming,_

_He had it coming,_

_He took a flower in its prime._

_And the he used,_

_And he abused it._

_It was a murder, but not a crime!_

I quickly made friends with Liz, and we waited until someone else appeared guilty and was sent here with us.

**There you go! Shorter, but I worked my butt off to get this day in two hours, so I could proofread it, edit, and post it! I think I'll try for June's chapter in a week's time! Please review!**


	3. I Ain't a Liar

**Disclaimer: Don't own them...I'd be scared to!**

**Omg, this took so long! Sorry! I'm back in the swing of things, so here we go. And, um, I think I'll try to write out the Hungarian.**

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_Pop, six, __**squish**__, uh-oh, Cicero, Lipschitz_

_Now I'm standing in the kitchen_,

_Carving up a chicken for dinner, _

_Minding my own business._

It was quite a normal day, if I may so myself. I was routinely fixing dinner. Wilbur, my husband, would be home in an hour or so. We were the stereotypical American family.

I should mention that I have never felt true happiness, felt utter joy flow through my veins.

You see, I married Wilbur when I was eighteen. I was never free to flirt and meander with others. Don't get me wrong, I love Wilbur, but every day he'll ask if I am being faithful. I don't know why, but the tall man I call "darling" keeps my attention.

My mother once said that the appearance of others is opposite their feelings. I never understood the true meaning of the quote. Wilbur would glare at me when I, simple June, would ask him. I may not have been the prettiest, the smartest, or the most athletic, but I wasn't as dumb as a rock. Insisting that he would never not love me, I forever evaded the obvious truth, looking around the words for some hidden meaning. So, seeing Wilbur burst through the door, an hour early, was a shock.

_In storms my husband, Wilbur, in a jealous rage_

Pointing a finger at me, his eyes wide and menacing, he whispered, "You's cheating."

I was terrified. This wasn't my loving, caring Wilbur. This thing in front of me was an insane creature, poised to kill at any movement. I hadn't even made love to anyone in months.

Gulping, I shakily answered, "No, I ain't."

With a loud gulp of breath, he inhaled and shouted, "You've been screwing the milk man!"

_"You've been screwing the milk man!" he says_

_He was crazy_

He started to approach me, each step like a thunderous echo on the linoleum floor. I stumbled back for every step he took. Gasping, I hit the counter and tightly shut my eyes.

Wilbur stopped.

Opening my eyes, I saw Wilbur turn around, clenching his fists at his side.

It was short-lived, for he whipped around and, with a monstrous roar, yelled, "You've been screwing the milk man!"

_And he kept on screaming, "You've been screwing the milk man!"_

He charged at me, sprinting with all of his might. I shrieked and felt behing me. The lukewarm chicken was at my fingertips, and further inspection found the cold hilt of a butcher knife. I yanked it out and firmly held it out it front of me.

"Now you see here, Wilbur! I AM NO-" I started to yell.

But Wilbur kept coming, and I lunged, thrusting my knife toward his stomach.

_And then he ran into my knife_

He ran up until the hilt prevented him from going any further.

A few moments passed, and then he spit blood out. Giving me a toothy, crimson stained smile, he muttered, "If I go down, you're coming with me!"

Momma was right.

I don't know what I saw in this man, but that set me off. I grabbed the knife and jerkily pulled it out of him. Blood gushed out of his gaping mouth. I plunged the knife back into him, hitting different spots every time. A myriad of red splattered on to my hands, drenching both mine and Wilbur's clothes.

_He ran into my knife ten times._

Words couldn't describe the euphoric feeling in me. I was exterminating this unwanted man from the earth. I could eat, sleep, and talk how I wanted to!

I was free!

The blaring sirens outside ceased my endless tirade once and for all.

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Then, at prison, I met Liz and Annie. They started it once more.

They ignited me again.

**A bit short. I couldn't really connect with June, and being that connection was the key to writing this, I struggled. Oh well! R and R!**


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